I know now you had to go.
I heard it from the wind
That came one night instead of you.
The wind howls across the desert
Asking uncomfortable questions
About unquestioned paths.
It screams a challenge to the silence
Buffered with watch caps and ear muffs
Reminding us that the place is
Anything but quiet.
Pockets of sound catch on the thorn
Of a cactus, sink down to the underground tunnels,
And arouse the snake and the rat.
The moon draws them up
And the wind sweeps through,
Stampedes and scatters the sounds,
Whistling and roaring, till dim memories drown.
The slosh of dumping a bucket of sand in the ocean
Decades ago is finally gone. Assimilated. Quashed.
And isn’t each loss a little death?
And doesn’t this imply the struggle for release
From attachment to the form of things?
A struggle as transforming as birth,
When the present co-mingles
with past and future
And body and mind
Are nothing yet, again.
It is surrender
Of the dense to the ethereal.
It is a letting go of things.
It took a long time for me to understand
Because you forgot to tell me,
And you know the wind just whispers.”